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Aucassin ano NICoLeETTE. 


AUCASSIN AND 
NICOLETTE 


THE LOVERS OF PROVENCE 


A MS. Sonc-Srory or THE Twetrra CENTURY 


RENDERED INTO MODERN FRENCH 


By ALEXANDRE BIDA 


TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH VERSE AND PROSE 


By A. RODNEY MACDONOUGH 


ILLUSTRATED 


WITH ENGRAVINGS AFTER DESIGNS BY A. BIDA, MARY HALLOCK FOOTE, 
W. H. GIBSON, AND F. DIELMAN 


BOSTON 
KNIGHT AND MILLET 











CoryricuHt, A.D, 1880, a 
BY FORDS, HOWARD, AND HULBERT. 











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AUCASSIN ARMING FOR BaTTLe. 


NOTE 


THE treasure-trove of early French min- 
strelsy never has been more prized than in 
ourowntime. Favorite English and Ameri- 
can writers have made such researches in 
the land of 


“Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburn’d 
~ mirth,” 
that certain delightful relics, like the min- 
strel-tale of the loves of Aucassin and Nico- 
lette, have achieved a new fame of their own. 
The devisers of the present translation of 
this charming little romance scarcely could 
have hit upon a more tasteful variation from 
the conventional holiday-book. The work 
itself is instinct with the beauty of nature 
and the spirit of poesy, when skies were fair 


iii 





iv INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 


and poesy was young. Even to chance upon 
some fragment of it, is to invest it there- 
after with a summer charm. 

Walter Pater, in his “Studies in the His- 
tory of the Renaissance,” quotes the brief 
passage —almost matchless for insouciance 
and the lightsome troubadour spirit —of 
Aucassin’s love-inspired recklessness in de- 
picting the pains of a monkish heaven and 
the pleasures of the knightly company gath- 
ered in the other place of departed souls. 
Finding this buoyant waif, I was tempted 
into making the following paraphrase, 
which appeared originally in “A Masque 
of Poets:” — 


PROVENCAL LOVERS. 
AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE. 


Within the garden of Beaucaire 

He met her by a secret stair, — 
The night was centuries ago. 

Said Aucassin, “ My love, my pet, 
These old confessors vex me so ! 
They threaten all the pains of hell 
Unless I give you up, ma belle ;” — 
Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 


INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 


“ Now, who should there in heaven be 
To fill your place, ma trés-douce mie? 
To reach that spot I little care ! 
There all the droning priests are met ; — 
All the old cripples, too, are there 
That unto shrines and altars cling 
To filch the Peter-pence we bring ;”” — 
Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 


“There are the barefoot monks and friars 
With gowns well-tattered by the briars, 
The saints who lift their eyes and whine : 

‘I like them not —a starveling set ! 

Who'd care with folk like these to dine? 
The other road ’twere just as well 

That you and I should take, ma belle !””— 
Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 


“To purgatory I would go 
With pleasant comrades whom we know, — 
Fair scholars, minstrels, lusty knights 
Whose deeds the land will not forget, 
The captains of a hundred fights, 
True men of valor and degree : 
We'll join that gallant company,” — 
Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 


vi INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 


“There, too, are jousts and joyance rare, 
And beauteous ladies debonair, 
The pretty dames, the merry brides, 
Who with their wedded lords coquette 
And have a friend or two besides, — 
And all in gold and trappings gay, 
With furs, and crests in vair and gray ;” — 
Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 


“ Sweet players on the cithern strings, 
And they who roam the world like kings, 
Are gathered there, so blithe and free ! 
Pardie! 1’d ioin them now, my pet, 

If you went also, ma douce mie ! 

The joys of heaven I'd forego 

To have you with me there below, ” — 
Said Aucassin to Nicolette. 


The publishers of the present volume 
have desired to reproduce this fragment of 
mine, and I have cheerfully consented; for 
what rhymester would not be glad to see his 
verse in choice companionship? Mr. Mac- 
donough’s literary skill, and his exact and 
refined scholarship, are well known among 
American writers, and held at their true 
worth. The translation which he has given 


INTRODUCTORY NOTE. vii 


of the whole of this famous romaunt—a 
task that would be arduous to others — 
doubtless has been to him an easeful labor 
of love. It is an admirable and characteris- 
tic piece of his work, a sensitive rendering 
of the grace of the original, with its quaint 
turns of thought and delicacies of early 
Romantic feeling. The publishers have 
been fortunate in their choice of a trans- 
lator, and it is creditable to American book- 
craft that this pearl of medizval literature 
should be so exquisitely reset for the enjoy- 
ment of a public whose taste for the beau- 
tiful, thus grown by what it feeds on, in- 
creases with each new year. 


Epmunp C. STEDMAN. 








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NicoLe THE Muinsrret at BEAvCAIRE. 


PREFACE 


.. + The little romance of Aucassin and 
Nicolette long ago attracted the attention of 
men of letters. Its first readers were struck 
by the fresh and youthful passion that ani- 
mates it, the original form of the story, and 
the lively movement of its style. Only one 
manuscript preserves this exquisite work for 
us: when we think how many risks have 
threatened that volume with destruction 
since the close of the thirteenth century, at 
which date the minstrel’s recital passed from 
an oral to a written form, we perceive the 
happy chance that enables us still to enjoy 
the ‘sweet songs’ and ‘fair sayings’ of the 
‘old captive.’ If the French manuscript, No. 
2168 of the National Library, had not en- 


x PREFACE. 


joyed a good fortune denied to many other 
finer books, better fitted for preservation, we 
should not even have conjectured the exist- 
ence of Aucassin and Nicolette; for no old 
text mentions it, and there is no other pro- 
duction of our ancient poetry that could give 
us any idea of it... . 

The author of Aucassiv has given his own 
work the name of Chantefable,—a Song- 
story, — which is to be found nowhere else 
in French literature, and which could be 
applied to no other kind of composition than 
this one. It denotes, in fact, that mingling 
of prose with verse, of pieces that are sung 
and pieces that are “spoken, told, and re- 
lated,” which distinguishes this romance 
alone. The very existence of this name, 
which the author can hardly have invented, 
implies that of an entire class, of which only 
this specimen has come down to us. These 
song-stories were delivered publicly, and 
were probably performed by several persons 
together. At least, that inference seems 
natural as to this one, from the use of 
the plural at the beginning of each prose 
portion: “Then they speak, and tell, and 


PREFACE. xi 


relate.” But it is evident that a single min- 
strel, if necessary, might take upon himself 
both the recitation of the prose and the 
singing of the verses. These were sung to 
the accompaniment of the vied/e, or large 
violin, like the long passages on one rhyme 
of our old hero-legends. They have exact- 
ly the same form, that is to say, they are 
grouped in series of varying lengths upon 
the same rhyme or assonance: assonance, we 
know, is carried only by the last strong vow- 
el, while rhyme takes in also the consonants 
following. It is assonance that is used in 
our poem, a fact which puts its high antiq- 
uity beyond doubt, and, in any case, hardly 
permits its origin to be placed later than the 
close of the twelfth century. ... 

Who was its author? The opening, in 
which he seems to speak of himself, of the 
good verses “of the deport of the old caz- 
tif,’ is not clear. Does deport signify 
‘narrative’? and must we understand that 
_ the poet had the story from an old prisoner, 
perhaps some former captive of the Sara- 
cens? or does deport only have the mean- 
ing of ‘amusement,’ ‘diversion’? and does 


xii PREFACE. 

‘caitif’ simply mean ‘poor or unhappy 
man’? I venture to affirm nothing. Still 
it is not easy for me to believe that this 
charming prattle of love, these fresh im- 
pressions of nature, these little figures so 
spiritedly copied, are the work of some poor 
old wanderer. I should rather lean towards 
the first supposition ; and should picture to 
fancy our author gayly roaming over the 
world, singing and declaiming the pleasant 
story that some old prisoner had taught 
him. 

Doubtless it is in the region of Cham- 
pagne and Picardy that he thus “ went mak- 
ing music through the country.” .. . Why 
is the scene laid in Provence, and not in 
northern France? No doubt solely on 
account of its very remoteness, and for the 
sake of gaining at the outset a half-foreign 
point of departure, before beginning his 
journey to the romantic countries of Tore- 
lore and Carthage. The author, in any case, 
knew very little of the region in which he 
places his hero. Of his own authority, he 
creates Aucassin and Garin Counts of Beau- 
caire, which never was a County; he puts a 


PREFACE. xiii 


great forest, nine hundred leagues square, at 
the gates of Beaucaire, in which lions prowl, 
together with wild boars. The castle of 
Beaucaire, moreover, is on the seashore, and 
the country-folk practise the business, once 
common, of wreckers. This suffices to con- 
vince us that this romance, so French in its 
form, is not, as has been supposed, a trans- 
lation from the Provengal. 

If he who relates the story had it, as may 
be believed, from some crusader returned 
from the East after long captivity there, we 
should perhaps rather recognize in it one 
of those numerous instances of the penetra- 
tion into the West, at that period, of the 
stories of Greek romancers. A princess 
carried off by pirates, brought to the court 
of some far-away king or prince, inspiring 
that king’s son with an ardent passion, 
driven away by the king, who persuades bis 
son that she is dead; but pursued, overtaken, 
lost again by him; and at last, after a thou- 
sand crosses, attaining to the discovery of 
her royal family, and to a share of her lover’s 
throne, —all that is quite the frame of the 
Byzantine romance... . 


xiv PREFACE. 





The author’s special talent was that of 
painting details at once real and picturesque, 
of seizing the virgin jets of feeling in young 
and innocent hearts, of marking the tone 
and flow of familiar intercourse. Wonderful 
adventures, great battles, distant journeys, 
were not within his powers. He came upon 
these in his theme, since that was the taste 
of his age; but he treated this part of the 
subject with evident carelessness, even in 
the beginning of his work. He makes 
amends for this, by executing those portions 
which pleased him with surprisingly simple 
and delicate art. We rarely find in the 
writings of the middle ages, so filled with 
flat description, impressions rendered with 
such truth and charm: the mild May night 
in which Nicolette escapes from prison, the 
shadow of the old tower within which she 
crouches while the troop of armed men is 
coming along the street, gleaming in the 
moonlight ; the flowery bower through which 
Aucassin looks up at the stars, form pictures 
full of charming poetry. Again, what more 
delicately elegant than the description of 
Nicolette moving on through the garden, 


PREFACE. xv 





lifting her dress because of the dew? what 
more brilliant than her sudden appearance 
before the shepherd-lads, lighting up all the 
wood ? what more charming than the flight 
of the two lovers, when Aucassin, “ holding 
in his arms his love before him on his saddle- 
bow,” rides away so free of care through the 
wide world? All this is not merely seen, 
but felt and represented by a genuine artist. 

With this deep and lively feeling of the 
beauties of nature, the author had an eye 
and ear singularly quick to catch human and 
every-day realities. The sentinel’s kindly 
heart, the gayety of the shepherds eating 
their bread on the grass, their uncouthness, 
the rough mischief of the one readier than 
the rest to talk, are touched with perfect 
truth and nicety. The ploughman’s talk is 
quite remarkable: the author with a stroke 
contrasts his hero’s more or less fanciful 
misfortunes with the real suffering and hard 
estate of the poor, their resignation next to 
stupidity, yet full of matter of reflection for 
the powerful. The ploughman cannot under- 
stand why Aucassin should weep, since he is 
rich ; and do not the lower people even now 


xvi PREFACE. 


think in the same way? That touch of this 
rustic’s old mother, for whom he feels so 
true a tenderness, goes straight to the heart; 
and this is a rare thing in the literature of 


that age, which so reluctantly leaves the 


circle of a narrow range of feelings, always 
the same, and often false, or at least con- 
ventional. 

The dialogues are masterpieces at once of 
nature and of convention, if we may use the 
phrase. Certain forms constantly recurring 
in them when occasion offers give them 
an antique and almost Homeric air; on the 
other hand, for exactness, grace, and liveli- 
ness of expression, they unquestionably pre- 


sent us the flower of the language spoken 
in the time of Aliénor of Poitiers. In all 


the brilliant periods of our literature, its 
peculiar triumph has been dialogue, simple, 
witty, slightly excited, easy, ironical, or im- 
passioned. I do not fear to say that the 
best pages in this style produced by modern 
French art do not surpass the choice hig 
of our Song-story. 

We must name last, as that which ene 
the principal charm and merit of this little 








PREFACE. xvii 


romance, the pure and warm picture of 
youthful love, —innocent because it makes 
no distinction of desire and affection; above 
all reflection because it believes itself to be 
undying; childlike, passionate, absurd, and 
divine. It has been said, and with reason, 
that the author sometimes seems to be laugh- 
ing at his hero; but he laughs at him as a 
certain character of Moliére’s laughs at the 
raptures which he nevertheless has felt, or 
would be glad to feel again. He had surely 
known the impulsive movements, the capri- 
cious flights, the childishnesses, the mus- 
ings, despairs, and intoxications of love, 
which he has expressed so naturally, with a 
firm, fine touch. Surely he said to himself 
that all this was folly, but that he knew 
nothing wise which was worth it; he de- 
lighted in reviving those enchanting emo- 
tions, though he sometimes smiled himself 
at their exaggeration. ... 

To my feeling, the most finished piece of 
this kind is the talk of the two lovers when 
Nicolette approaches the dungeon within 
which she heard Aucassin moaning. He is 
a prisoner, she a fugitive ; they are about to 


xviii PREFACE, 





part, perhaps forever ; their love is so strong 
that each would give up life for the other; 
they must have, it seems, a thousand things 
of highest consequence to say to each other: 
yet there they are, she leaning against the 
buttress, he at the bottom of his dungeon, 
delightfully disputing which of the two loves 
the other best. Does not that recall the 
admirable scene in Zartuffe, which Dorine 
ends by exclaiming, — 


‘ To tell you true, all lovers are mere madmen.’ 


Lovers do not speak the same language in 
the twelfth as in the seventeenth century, 
but they say much the same things. 

The extravagance of Aucassin’s love not 
only leads him to neglect his knightly du- 
ties, to defy his father, and at last to desert 
his high station in society for a life of wan- 
derings: it urges him even to break the yoke 
imposed by religion in the middle ages on 
thoughts at least, if not on actions. There 
is nothing in all the literature of the time 
at all resembling that amazing passage in 
which the son of Count de Beaucaire, exas- 
perated by the disappearance of his love, 


PREFACE. xix 





rejects hopes of heaven and fears of hell, 
and exclaims as a great lady in the seven- 
teenth century did, that there must be far 
better company in the latter than in the for- 
mer of those abodes. Our author here gives 
his frolic wit full play: it might suffice for 
Aucassin to say that he would not care for 
heaven without Nicolette, and that hell with 
her would be delightful ; the rest is the au- 
thor’s embroidery, who avails himself of this 
opportunity to breathe out feelings he would 
not have dared utter in his own name. We 
detect in this extraordinary tirade the hatred 
felt by the minstrels, the harpers, those who 
lived by feasts and tourneys, who profited 
by the tastes for pleasure and often by 
the vices of the ‘noble dukes,’ the ‘ gallant 
knights,’ and the ‘fair gracious ladies,’ 
towards those morose ‘old priests’ who 
ceased not to preach abstinence, charity, 
fasting, and alms, and many a time caused 
the dismissal of all the joyous and hungry 
troop of pleasure-emakers. We must not 
take this invective literally, —it is a petu- 
lant outburst with no deep meaning; our 
author would not so easily, in truth and ear- 


XX PREFACE. 


nest, have given himself over to eternal dam- 
nation; in another place he speaks of God 
who loves those that love each other, and 
doubtless that is the God on whose indul- 
gence he counted. 

The style of Awucassin and Nicolette af- 
fords an excellent instance of the capabili- 
ties of the French language in the twelfth 
century, when well handled. It is far from 
true that all our ancient prose composers 
write as well: any one who reads the other 
tales that figure with Aucassin in the same 
volume of the Elzevir Library will readily 
perceive the difference. In this work the 
form of expression is not cumbrous, nor 
loaded with useless words, nor intricate with 
disconnected constructions ; every thing is 
lively, exact, and clear. A point to be par- 
ticularly remarked is the rhythm, which gives 
constant life and symmetry to the utterance. 
This prose was meant to be recited, almost 
to be dramatically played, and not to be 
coldly read; and hence it derives its rare 
qualities. We shall see by reading it whether 
one has the right to say that our ancient 
tongue was barbarous, uncouth, and indis- 


PREFACE. xxi 





tinct. Modern days have produced nothing 
better: Voltaire or Mérimée might have 
envied its flowing grace and its movement 
at once careless, firm, and rapid. 

The translator felt the certain difficulty 
of rivalling such a model; yet he has at- 
tempted the task, and I do not hesitate to 
say that he has succeeded. His work in 
many places is rather that of transferring 
than translating ; in other instances he has 
adhered closely to the original; he is always 
singularly happy in interpreting its spirit 
and feeling, and in reflecting all of its charm 
which is not quite inseparably connected 
with its mere form. It will surprise the 
reader to find so delicate and skilful a pen 
held by the hand that wields the pencil so 
well; the public will excuse its hesitation in 
believing that Bipa can write excellently, 
by its conviction that he draws wonderfully. 
Yet the twofold accomplishment must be 
owned, — the prose and the smooth verses 
of the master be enjoyed, while we admire 
the illustrations on which, doubling the 
interest of the performance, he has been 
pleased to bestow his own skill with the 


xxii PREFACE. 


graver. The old narrator wrote the text and 
the music of his work; his imitator com- 
poses the text and the illustrations : each is 
worthy of the other. The ‘telling’ and 
the ‘singing’ of the old time cannot have 
charmed more than the modern story and 
the sketches will please. I hasten to leave 
the reader to his enjoyment of them, asking 
his indulgence for detaining him these few 
moments. Brpa thought that a slight intro- 
duction would be appropriate before read- 
ing this ancient romance so charmingly pre- 
sented in its modern form. I have been for- 
tunate, inthus linking my name with his, to 
win this public testimony to so dear and 
valued a friendship. 


Gaston PARIS. 


CONTENTS 


eee mUCTORY NOTE: . 2 ke so 3. it 


By EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. 


PREFACE, AND REVISION OF THE ORIGINAL 
TAMUSCRIOT "TEXT oc eee ee! ER 


By GAsToN Paris. 


SONG-STORY: AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE. 27 


English Version by A. RODNEY MACDONOUGH. 
From the Modern French of ALEXANDRE BIDA. 


THE ILLUSTRATIONS 


1. AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE . . . « Frontispiece. 
Designer . . . . .» ALEXANDRE Bipa. 
Engraver. . « «© «© © «© Je Karst. 

2. AUCASSIN ARMING FOR BATTLE . . « e« e iii 
Designer . . « « «ALEXANDRE Bipa, 
Engraver . . « « Joun A. CouGHLAN, 

3. NICOLE THE MINSTREL AT BEAUCAIRE. . ix 
Designer . « « « » ALEXANDRE Bina. 
Engraver . . »« « « W. HEINEMANN. 

4. CLIPPING THE WINGS OF LOVE «+ «4.5m 


Designer . . « «» « ALEXANDRE Bina. 
Engraver . . « « « « JouN Fitmer, 


5. KNIGHT, OR LOVER? .. » » « «© « «| « =) eee 
Designer . . « « .» ALEXANDRE Bipa, 
Engraver . . « « « « JouHN Karst. 


6. NICOLETTE IMPRISONED .. «+ + « « « 34 


Designer . . » Mary Hattock Foors. 
Engraver . . « « « «Joun P. Davis, 


7s 


o 


10+ 


Il. 


12. 


13. 


14. 


THE ILLUSTRATIONS, xxv 


NICOLETTE AND THE PILGRIM .... . 46 


Designer . . . » «ALEXANDRE Bipa. 
Engraver. . . . « « JoHNFitmer, 


NICOLETTE ESCAPING THROUGH THE GARDEN 48 


Designer . . »« « . ALEXANDRE Bipa. 
Engraver. . . . . Henry Marsn. 
NICOLETTE AT AUCASSIN’S DUNGEON-GRATE 50 
Designer . . . Mary Hattrock Foors, 
Engravers. . . SMITHWICK and FRENCH. 
NICOLETTE CROSSING THE CASTLE MOAT. 54 
Designer . . . W.Hamirton Gisson. 
Engraver . . . « .« « JOHN Fitmer. 


NICOLETTE AND THE SHEPHERDS . .. . 56 


Designer . . . . . ALEXANDRE Bina. 
Engraver. . . . . JosepH Hariey, 

THE BOWER IN THE WooD. ..... . 58 
Designer . . . W.Hanmitton Gipson. 
Engraver . . . . » JosEPH HaRLEy. 


AUCASSIN AND THE PLOUGHMAN ... . 66 
Designer . . « FREDERICK DIELMAN. 
Engraver. . © »« « « JoHN Karst. 

THE LOVERS ON THE SEA-SHORE. .. . 72 


Designer . . . «» » ALEXANDRE Bipa, 
Engraver . . . «. «» « JOHN Fitmer. 


xxvi THE ILLUSTRATIONS. 


15. THE SARACENS BRING NICOLETTE TO CAR- _ 
THAGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74 


Designer . W.Hamitron Greson, 
Engravers. .  . SMITHWICK and FRENCH. 


16. THE PRINCESS NICOLETTE IN CARTHAGE. 76 


Designer . . . Mary Hattock Foor. 
Engraver . . . . » Henry Marsn, 


ats The illustrations are engraved on wood: those designed by 
Bupa, after the original etchings made by him for his 
French edition; the others, after drawings made 
for this volume by the artists named. 





Cuippinc THE Winoas oF Love. 





AUCASSIN 


AND NICOLETTE 





SONG. 


Who will list to-day the verses 
By a hapless captive writ, 
Who the world-known tale rehearses, — 
Soothing so the pain of it, — 
Of that charming youthful pair, 
Aucassin and Nicolette? 
You shall hear therein grief’s passion 
That the youth was fain to prove, 
Wrought him by the damsel’s love, 
Sung in noble, tender fashion. 
For the wise old poet, able 
To vary wit with cheer in fable, 
Tells of nought but good and fair. 
None so pained, so sorrow-stricken, 
So afflicted with black cares, 

27 


28 AUCASSIN 





None such crushing evil bears, 

But will feel his spirit quicken, 

Will he choose to list to this, 
So sweet it is. 


STORY. 


Count Bougars de Valence waged war 
on Count Garin de Beaucaire,—so great 
and dreadful and deadly a war, that not a 
day went by that he did not set himself 
before the gates, walls, and defences of the 
town with a hundred knights and ten thou- 
sand soldiers, foot and horse. He burned 
his lands, ravaged his country, and killed 
his people. Count Garin de Beaucaire was 
old and feeble; he had had his day. He 
had never an heir, neither son nor daughter, 
except only a young fellow, who was such 
an one as I shall tell you of. The name of 
the lad was Aucassin; he was comely, tall, 
and gracious, well-made as to legs and feet, 
and shapely in body and arms. His hair 
was flaxen and curly in little ringlets, his 
eyes changeful and laughing, his color deli- 
cately bright, his nose high and well set. 


AND NICOLETTE. 29 





And he was so well furnished with all ex- 
cellences that there was no bad quality in 
him: but he was so mightily stricken by 
love, which conquers every thing, that he 
would not choose either to be a knight, or 
to don armor, or to go to tourneys, or to do 
any thing at all that he ought to do. His 
father and his mother said to him: — 

— Son, take your arms, bestride your 
horse, defend your lands, and come to your 
people’s help. If they were to see you 
among them, they would strike harder for 
their own bodies and goods, for your land 
and ours, 

— Sire, answered Aucassin, what is it 
that you tell me? May God never grant me 
any thing that I ask him, if ever I become a 
knight, or mount horse and go into the fray 
where I might strike or take blows, until 
you have given me Nicolette, my dear sweet- 
heart, whom I love so well! 

— Son, says his. father, that may not be. 
Let Nicolette go. She is a captive who was 
brought from a foreign land. The viscount 
of this city bought her from the Saracens, 
and brought her hither. He held her at the 


30 AUCASSIN 





font, baptized her, and made her his god- 
daughter; he will give her one of these days 
some one undera knight’s degree, and above 
a squire’s, who will gain an honorable living 
for her. You have nothing at all to do with 
her; and, if you want to take a wife, I will 
give you the daughter of a king or a count. 
There is no so great lord in France who 
will not give you his daughter, if you wish 
her. 

— Good faith, father, answers Aucassin, 
is there to-day any rank in this world so 
high that if Nicolette, my sweet darling, 
were set in it, she would not find herself 
worthy of it? Were she Empress of Con- 
stantinople or Germany, Queen of France. 
or England, even that would be little enough 
for her, so noble is she, and worthy, and 
good, and furnished with all good qualities. 


SONG. 


Dwelt in Beaucaire’s castle stately, 
Aucassin, Count Garin’s son, 

He, though crossed and pining greatly, 
Would not from sweet love be won. 








Kwnicut, or Lover? 





AND NICOLETTE, 31 


Angry speech cannot restrain him, 
Though his father aye must scold ; 
And his mother : —Scapegrace ! crying, 
— Dare you wish it? not denying 
Nicolette is fair and pure, 
Hither fetched, a captive, sure, 
From the country of the Paynim, 
By caitiff Saracens, and sold. 
If you must be wiving shortly, 
Choose some maid of high degree. 
— Mother, wish not that for me. 
Nicolette is modest, courtly, 
Chaste her heart, and fair her face ; 
Right that I one day embrace 
Her lovely body, by love’s grace ; 
So dear to me. 


STORY. 


When Count Garin de Beaucaire perceives 
that he cannot draw his son Aucassin away 
from the love of Nicolette, he goes to seek 
the viscount of the city, who was his vassal, 
and bespeaks him thus :— 

—Sir Viscount, cause Nicolette, your 
god-daughter, to be put away. out of sight. 
Cursed be the country whence she came 


32 AUCASSIN 





into this land! For by reason of her I 
lose Aucassin, who will not become a 
knight, nor do any thing of that he ought 
to do. And know well, that if I can lay 
hold on her, I will have her burned alive, 
and you also may stand in great fear for 
yourself, 

— Sire, answered the viscount, I am sorry 
that Aucassin comes and goes, and tries to 
have speech with her. I bought that child 
with my moneys, I held her at the font and 
baptized her, and made her my god-daughter. 
I would have given her some one under a 
knight’s degree, and above a squire’s, who 
would have gained an honorable living for 
her. Your son Aucassin should have had 
nothing at all to do with her. But since it 
is your will and pleasure, I will send her into 
such a country and such a place that he shall 
never more see her again. 

— Take heed”to yourself, answers Count 
Garin; great harm might befall you from 
this! 

They parted. The viscount was very rich ; 
he had a beautiful palace that looked on a 
garden. He has Nicolette shut up there, 


AND NICOLETTE. 33 


in a chamber in the highest story, and he 
places an old woman near her to keep her 
company. He has bread and meat and wine 
brought to them, and every thing they can 
have need of. Then he has the door closed 
up, so that no one may go into it, nor come 
out of it, and all made tight, saving one very 
small window that opened on the garden, 
through which a little fresh air came in, 


SONG. 


Nicolette, then, is in thrall, 

In a lofty vaulted hall, 

Strongly built, with painting dight, 
None the least for her delight. 
Near the window sad she cowers, 
Down into the garden gazes, 

Sees the sweet half-opened flowers, 
Hears, within the leafy mazes, 
Chirp of birds in shadowed bowers. 
Then a lonely orphan soul 

Feels herself poor sad Nicole. 

— Oh, dear Lord, why am I here? 
My cherished care, my Aucassin, 
Well you weet I love you merely. 
I wis, as true hearts only can, 


34 AUCASSIN 


Your love requites me even as dearly, 
They by reason of our love 
Cast me in this prison drear 
Where I pine my life away. 
But, by Mary’s Son above, 
Here no longer will I stay. 
Sure and soon I will go free, 
If that may be. 


STORY. 


Nicolette was in prison, as you have seen 
and understood, in that great chamber. The 
rumor spread through all the country that 
Nicolette was lost. Some said that she had 
taken to flight out of the region; others 
said that Count Garin de Beaucaire had put 
her to death. If any one was rejoiced at — 
this, Aucassin took great grief from it. He 
goes to find the viscount, and bespeaks him 
this : — 

— Sir Viscount, what have you done with 
Nicolette, my dear sweet friend, the thing 
that I most loved in the world? Have you 
torn her away from me? Wot you well that 
if I die for it, account will be required of 











NICOLETTE IMPRISONED, 


AND NICOLETTE. 35 





you for this ; and that will be full just, for 
you will have killed me with both hands, in 
ravishing from me what I love most in all 
the world. : 

— Fair sir, said the viscount, let that go. 
Nicolette is a captive whom I brought from 
a strange country. I bought her from the 
Saracens with my own moneys. I held her 
at the font, and baptized her, and made her 
my god-daughter. I have brought her up, 
and I would have given her one of these 
days some one, less than knight, and more 
than squire, who would have gained an hon- 
orable living for her. This is not a fitting 
thing for you. But rather take the daugh- 
ter of a king or a count. Moreover, what 
should you think to have gained if you had 
taken her for a mistress,.and brought her to 
_ your bed? You would profit very little by 
that, for your soul would be in hell through 
all eternity, and you would never enter para- 
dise. 

— What have I to do in paradise? I 
have no care to get there, but only to have 
Nicolette, my dearest, whom I love so much. 
For the only sort of people who go to para- 


- 


36 AUCASSIN 





dise are these I tell you of: old priests, old 
maimed cripples, who crawl night and day 
before their altars, and in their old crypts 
and then people who wear those ragged old 
cloaks, and are dressed in those old monks’ 
frocks, people that go naked and barefoot, 
covered with boils, and dying of cold and 
thirst, starvation and misery. People like 
those go to paradise ; I have nothing to do 
with them: but I had much liefer go to 
hell; for to hell go the young gallants, and 
goodly knights who died in tourney and in 
noble wars, and fair squires and gentlemen. 
Certes, I choose well to go with these. 
Thither too go the fair and noble ladies 
who have two or three lovers besides their 
lords. Thither go the gold and the silver, 
miniver and gray furs, and the harp-players 
and minstrels, and the kings of the world. 
With these I would fain go, if only I may 
have Nicolette, my sweet true love, with me. 
— Be sure, answers the viscount, you talk 
of her to no purpose: you shall never see 
her again. And if you were to speak with 
her, and your father should come to know it, 
he would burn us both alive, her and me, 


AND NICOLETTE, 37 


and you might stand in great fear for your- 
self. 

—That makes me sorrowful, said Aucas- 
sin, and all in grief he leaves the viscount. 


SONG, 


Aucassin, dejected, tristful, 

No word speaking, leaves the place. 
Solace none for him, so wistful 

Of her, lily-fair in face. 

Nor any man, I wis, so sage, 

‘As with words his grief t’assuage. 
Towards his father’s palace splendid 
Slowly back he wends his way ; 
Climbs the terrace-steps full slowly, 
Shuts his chamber, so he may 

Give himself to musings wholly ; 
Wails his wretched hap with cries, 
Loud laments, and weeping eyes, 
Still renewed and never ended. 

— Nicolette, O dearest creature, 
Sweet in parting, sweet to greet, 
Sweet in speech, in havior sweet, 
Sweet in kisses, sweet in feature, 
Face than day more pure and fair, 
Brightest eyes, that fill with care 


38 AUCASSIN 


All my heart, and sad despair 

That the pain of such a strife 

May not end till end of life, 
My dearest fere ! 


STORY. 


Whilst Aucassin was in his chamber, so 
grieving for Nicolette his love, the Count 
de Valence, who had his war to keep up, 
did not neglect his work. He had sum- 
moned his horsemen and his footmen, and 
takes his way towards the castle to assault 
it. The rumor spreads of that, and Count 
Garin’s knights and servants arm and hurry 
to the walls and gates to defend the castle; 
and the townsmen climb to the embrasures, 
and hurl down tiles and sharp stakes. 
While the assault was most furious, Count 
de Beaucaire came to the chamber where 
Aucassin held in grief, and pined for Nico- 
lette his darling whom he loved so well. 

— Ha, son! said he, are you so weak a 
wretch as to look on while your strong and 
stately castle is assaulted? Now wot you 
well, if you lose it you are disinherited. 











AND NICOLETTE. 39 





Come, son, take your weapons, mount and de- 
fend your having ;—give good help to your 
men, and gointo the battle. No need is there 
that you should strike any man, or that any 
other strike you. If our vassals see you in 
the thick of them, they will fight the better 
for their own goods and bodies, for your 
land and mine ; and you are so tall and stout 
that since you can do it, you ought to do it. 

— Father, says Aucassin, what are you 
saying? May God grant me nothing of 
what I ask him for, if I make myself a 
knight, mount horse and go to battle, or if I 
strike knights or they strike me, until you 
have given me Nicolette, my darling whom 
I love so well. 

— Son, says the father, that cannot be. I 
would liefer lose all I have than give her to 
you for wife. 

He goes away. And when Aucassin sees 
him going away, he calls him back. 

— Father, says Aucassin, come hither. I 
will make a proposition to you. 

— What is it, good son ? 

—I will don armor, and will go into the 
battle, on condition that if God brings me 


40 AUCASSIN 


back safe and sound, you will let me see 
Nicolette, my dear sweetheart, such time as 
to say two or three words to her, and to give 
her but one kiss. 
—I grant it, answers the father. 
He gives him his word upon it, and makes 
his son happy. 


SONG. 


Blithe his father’s pledge to hold, 

Aucassin heart-full of bliss is, 

Nor would bribe of purest gold, 

Though ten thousand marks were told, 

Win him to forego those kisses. 

Straight he bids his squire give heed, 

For the battle soon is dight. 

Helm on head and sword by side, 

From his neck his buckler swinging, 

Clenchéd hand to stout lance clinging, 

Full equipped he mounts his steed. 

I will swear none e’er saw knight 

Bear himself with higher pride. 

Swift he thinks of her so soft ; 

Bids the steed his spur obey ; 

Head upraised, and lance aloft, 

Through the midmost gate makes way, 
Straight to the fray. 


AND NICOLETTE. 41 





STORY. 


Aucassin advances, armed and mounted, 
as you have heard and understood. Perdie! 
how bravely his armor befits him, shield 
around neck, helm on head, his sword-tas- 
sels on his left hip! And the youth is tall 
and stout, well made and goodly, and the 
horse he rides fiery and swift; and he reins 
him straight through the middle way of the 
gate. Now, believe not that he thinks of 
taking oxen, cows, or kids, or of killing a 
knight, or that some knight may kill him. 
No, no, he thinks not of that, but muses so 
deep of Nicolette, his true love, that he for- 
gets his bridle, and what he is there to do. 
And the horse, feeling the spur, hurries him 
into the thick of the fight, and dashes into 
the press of his enemies, who on all sides 
lay hands on him, and capture him. They 
snatch away his shield and lance, take him 
prisoner outright, and are already talking of 
what death they would make him die. Not 
till then does Aucassin heed them. 

— Ha! God, he cries; dear soul! Lo, 
the enemy who are hurrying me away, and 


42 AUCASSIN 





mean to cut off my head! And, once my 
head cut off, I shall never more speak 
with Nicolette, my darling whom I love so 
well! Ihave yet my good sword here, and 
am in saddle on my good horse, still fresh ; 
and if Ido not now defend myself for her 
sake, and she does not cease to love me, 
may God never come to her help! 

The young fellow is tall and stout, the 
horse under him is fiery. Now he lays hand 
to sword, and begins to strike right and left. 
He slashes helms and visors, hands and 
arms, and makes a slaughter about him as 
the boar slays the dogs that attack him in 
the forest. He strikes down ten of their 
knights, grievously wounds seven of them, 
escapes from the mellay, and gallops back, 
sword in hand. Count Bougars de Valence, 
having heard say that they were just about 
hanging his enemy Aucassin, comes towards 
the place. Aucassin perceives him, lifts his 
sword, and strikes him so dour on the helm, 
that he drives it in over his head. The 
count is stunned by the blow, and falls to 
the ground. Aucassin thrusts out his arm, 
grasps him, takes him prisoner by the nose- 


AND NICOLETTE, 43 


piece of his casque, and brings him to his 
father. 

— Father, says Aucassin, here is your 
enemy who has warred on you and done you 
so much evil. Now these twenty years this 
war has lasted, that never a man could bring 
to end. 

— Good son, says the father, this is the 
way in which you should begin your knight’s 
career in arms, and think no longer of your 
follies. 

— Father, answers Aucassin, do not go 
on to berate me, but keep your promise. 

— Ay, what promise, dear son? 

— How, father, have you forgotten it? 
By my head, whoever else forgets it, I do 
not mean to forget it; for I hold it much at 
heart. Now, did you not promise, when I 
took arms and went to battle, that if God 
brought me back safe and sound, you would 
let me see Nicolette, my sweet love, long 
enough to say two or three words to her, 
and to give her but one kiss? Did you 
promise me that? And I will have you keep 
your word to me. 

—I? says the count. May God never 


44 AUCASSIN 





help me, if I keep such a promise! And if 
that girl were here, I would have her burned 
alive, and you should stand in great fear 
yourself. 

— Is that the end of words? says Aucas- 
sin. 

— God help me, says the father, yes. 

— In truth, says Aucassin, I am full sore- 
ly grieved to see that a man of your years 
lies. — Count de Valence, I have taken you 
prisoner ? 

— Yes, sire, assuredly, says the count. 

— Give me your hand. 

— Sire, right gladly. 

And he lays his hand in Aucassin’s. 

—Do you swear to me, says Aucassin, 
that so long as you shall be alive, if you find 
ways to do my father dishonor, or hurt in 
body or goods, you will never fail to do it? 

— For God’s sake, sire, do not make sport 
of me. But bring metoransom. You could 
not ask me so much, in gold or silver, steeds 
or palfreys, miniver or gray furs, dogs or 
birds, that I would not give it you. 

— Ha! says Aucassin, do you not confess 
that you are my prisoner? 


AND NICOLETTE. 4s 


— Yes, sire, I confess it. 

— Well, then, may God never help me, if 
I do not lop off your head, unless you swear 
me that. 

— In God’s name, I swear to you what- 
ever you please. 

And he takes oath. And Aucassin sets 
him on a horse, mounts another himself, 
and escorts him until he is in safety. 


SONG, 


When the Count Garin was ’ware 
How little skilled his wit to make 
Aucassin, his son, forsake 
Nicolette, the lily-fair, 
Stern and watchful, he bethought him 
Of a dungeon underground, 
Strongly-vaulted, dank and dreary ; 
Thither as a captive brought him. 
There shut out from light and sound, 
Life to him was dark and weary. 
Plaining thus did he begin: 
— O lily-flower, my Nicolette, 
Sweetheart of so lissome shape, 
Sweeter art thou than the grape, 


46 


AUCASSIN 


Mellow fruit, or rosy wine 

Poured from golden beaker fine. 

On a day a pilgrim wight 

Hither came from Limousin, 
Stricken, sick, in woeful plight. 
Stretched I saw him on his bed 
Voiceless, breathless, well-nigh dead. 
Passing by the bed, O wonder ! 
Chancing then your robe to lift, 
Your ermine cloak, and snowy shift, 
Unwittingly 

You gave to see 

The ankle fine that peeped from under. 
When the pilgrim saw that sight, 
Cured, from bed he rose outright, 
Healed, and sound, and joyous-hearted, 
Home for Limousin departed. 

O! fere, for whom I pine away, 
Nicolette, oh dearest creature, 

Sweet in coming, sweet in going, 
Sweetly speaking, sweetly doing, 
Sweet in kisses, sweet in feature, 
Face more pure and fair than day ! 
Cruel souls, that plot for harming, 
Or harbor hate to one so charming ! 
For your sake, withouten fault, 

Here in pain and grief I lie. 





NICOLETTE AND THE PiLGRIM. 





AND NICOLETTE. 47 


Surely on some coming morrow, 
Wan with weeping, spent with sorrow, 
In this drear and dismal vault, 
Well I know that I must die 
For you, my sweet. 


STORY. 


So Aucassin was put in prison, as you 
have heard and understood; and Nicolette, 
on the other hand, was in her chamber. It 
was the summer-time in the month of May, 
when days are long and nights still and fair. 
Nicolette was lying on her bed. She saw 
the moon shining bright through the win- 
dow, and heard the nightingale singing in 
the garden, and thought came to her of 
Aucassin, her lover whom she cherished 
so. She set to musing of Count Garin 
de Beaucaire, who hated her cruelly; she 
thought that she could not stay there, that 
if any one betrayed her, and Count Garin 
came to know it, he would put her to death 
swift and sudden. She saw that the old 
woman who was with her was asleep. She 
rose up, dressed herself in a fine robe that 


48 AUCASSIN 





she had, of cloth of silk, took the bed-clothes 
and some table-cloths, knotted them to- 
gether, made as long a rope as she could, — 
fastened it to the casement-shaft, and let . 

herself slip down into the garden. She 
took her dress with one hand in front, and 
with the other behind, and lifted her skirt 
on account of the dew she saw on the grass, 
and went on along the garden. She had 
flaxen hair, curly in little ringlets, and 
eyes changeful and laughing, and a deli- 
cate color, and her nose was prominent 
and well set, and her lips were redder 
than cherries and roses in summer-time, © 
and she had small white teeth, and little. 
firm breasts that rounded out her dress as — 
if they were two cocoa-nuts, and she was 
so slender in the waist that one might have 
clasped it in two hands; and the daisies she 
crushed under her toes, and that sprang up 
again, looked quite dark compared with her 
feet and ankles, so fair the damsel was. — 
She came to the gate at the back of the . 
garden, unclosed it, and went out into the 
streets of Beaucaire, along the shadow, for 
the moon was shining bright. And she 











NIcoLETTE ESCAPING THROUGH THE GARDEN. 





4 AND NICOLETTE, 49 
;; 

walked on till she came to the tower where 
her lover was. The tower was buttressed 
with columns at distances, and she crouched 
“against one of the columns. She wrapped 
herself up in her cloak, and put her head 
into a crevice of the tower, which was old. 
Then she heard Aucassin weeping within, 
-and keeping great grief, and mourning for 
his dear love whom he cherished so; and 
when she had listened to him long enough, 
‘she spoke to him. 


SONG. 


Nicole then in mournful fashion 
Close against a buttress crept, 
Nor could she refuse compassion, 
_ Listening how her lover wept. 
She bespeaks him thus : 
— Dear youth, 
Fair and noble, valiant lover, 
I am fain to tell you truth. 
Vain are sighs and tears, — give over 
Sore lamenting. What relief 
Comes from never-ceasing grief, 
Sith you cannot make me wife? 
For your kindred and your sire 


50 AUCASSIN 


Threaten me with wrath full dire. 
For your sake I must depart, 
Seeking foreign lands in flight. 

More she says not —severs deft 
One, the longest, of her tresses ; 
Drops it through the dungeon’s cleft. 
He has seized it with caresses, 
Kissed, and pressed it to his heart. 
Past that instant of delight, 
He renews his tears and ruth 

For her, his life. 


STORY. 


When Aucassin heard Nicolette tell him 
that she meant to go away into another 
country, he could not but fall into despair. 

— Fair sweet friend, he says, you must 
not go, for you would cause my death. For 
the first man who should see you, and could 
do it, would take you at once and make you 
his. And if you were to come into any 
other arms than mine, think not I would 
even stay to find a knife, to stab me to the © 
heart with it and kill myself. No, surely, I 
would not stay so long, but I should dart 


; 
| 











Nicovetre ar Aucassin’s DuNnGeon-GRaTE. 





4 


AND NICOLETTE. 51 


_ from as far away as I could see a wall or a 
_ rock, and I would dash my head so roughly 


against it, that I should burst out my eyes 


- and scatter my brains. And yet, I had liefer 


die of such a death than to hear that you are 
in the embrace of another man than myself. 

— Aucassin, she answers, I do not believe 
that you can love me as much as you say — 
but I—I love you more than you love me. 

— My faith! says Aucassin, sweet dar- 
ling, it is not possible that you should love 
me as much as I love you. A woman can- 
not love a man as much as a man loves a 
woman : for a woman’s love is in her eyes, 
and on the point of her bosom, and at the 
tips of her toes; but a man’s love is rooted 
in his heart, and cannot go out of it. 

Whilst Aucassin and Nicolette were thus 
talking, the town watch came along the 
street, their drawn swords under their coats, 
for Count Garin had given them command 
that if they could lay hold on Nicolette, they 
should put her to death. Now the sentinel 
who was atop the tower saw them coming, 


_ and heard them talking, as they went, of 


Nicolette, and threatening to kill her. 


52. AUCASSIN 


— Perdie! said the sentinel, what pity if 
they should kill so lovely a damsel! It 
would be a right good deed if I could warn 
her not to let herself be seen, and she could 
keep herself hid. For if they were to kill 
her, Aucassin, my young lord, wowld die of 
it, and that would be great pity. 


SONG, 


Now the dungeon sentinel 
On the topmost wall who stood, 
Brave and courteous and good, 
Kindly too, has heard full well 
All her converse with her lover. 
Giving warning, thus he sings, 
— Damsel with the smile so tender, 
And the lissome shape so slender, 
I have hearkened all your speaking ~ 
With the youth who, captive lying 
For your eyes, is slowly dying. 
Harm to you this moment brings. 
Ware the soldiers for you seeking ! 
Drawn swords with their cloaks they cover; 
They will murder you outright, 
Save you ’scape by sudden flight. 
So heed aright ! 





re 





™~ 


AND NICOLETTE. 53 





STORY. 


— Hé, said Nicolette, may the soul of thy 
father and thy mother rest in peace, thou 
who hast so kindly and gently given me 
warning. Please God, I will hide myself 
from them, and may he protect me! 

She shrinks within her cloak in the shadow 
of the buttress until the soldiers have passed 
by, and bids farewell to Aucassin. She goes 
on and comes to the base of the castle. 
The wall had been broken and repaired ; she 
climbs up it, and goes on till she finds her- 
self between the wall and the moat. She 
looks down, and seeing the moat still and 
deep, she feels great fear. 

— Ah, God! she says ; dear soul! if I let 
myself drop, I shall break my neck, and if 
I stay they will take me to-morrow and 
burn me alive. But I had liefer die here 
than that all the gaping people come to-mor. 
row to gaze at me. 

She made the sign of the cross on her 


.face, and let herself slip into the moat; and 


when she reached the bottom her beautiful 
feet and her lovely hands, which never had 


54 AUCASSIN 





known what it was to be hurt, were bruised 
and scratched, and the blood flowed from 
them in many places, and nathless she felt 
neither harm nor pain, by reason of the 
great fear she had. And if she had sore 
trouble to get down, she found very greatly 
more in climbing up. She thought it would 
be no wise well to stay there, and she found 
a sharp stake that those from within had 
thrown down in defending the castle. She 
climbed right slowly, one foot after the other, 
so that at last very hardly she reached the 
top. 

Now there was a forest hard by, two bow- 
shots off, which was in length and breadth 
at least thirty leagues. It was full of wild 
beasts and serpents. She was afraid of 
being devoured if she should go into it, and 
bethought herself, on the other hand, that 
if they were to find her there, they would 
take ker back into the town, and burn her 
alive. 


SONG. 


When Nicolette, the lily-fair, 
Toiling, breathless, tired, had clomb 


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Zz 
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Pa 
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Zz 








AND NICOLETTE, 55 


Hardly, to the moat’s high comb, 
Well-nigh fainting with despair 
She begins to Heaven a prayer: 
— King of majesty, our Father, 
Pity take upon my woe ! 
For I know not what to do. 
If I pass to yon deep wood 
There I surely fall a prey 
To the beasts that roam alway. 
If I linger, they will find me 
At the earliest streak of day, 
And for burning seize and bind me. 
But, by the God I pray for pity, 
Counting all, I had far rather 
Be of some wild beast the food 
Than go back to yonder city. 

No jot will I! 


STORY. 


Nicolette was in despair, as you have 
heard. She commended herself to God, 
and walked on till she came to the forest. 
She dared not go very deep into it, by rea- 
son of the wild beasts and the serpents. 
She hid herself in a dense thicket, and 
sleep coming over her, she slept till morn- 


56 AUCASSIN 





ing, till the hour when the shepherd-lads 
came out of the town, and drove their flocks 
between the forest and the river. They 
gathered all together by a fair fountain 
which was on the border of the forest. 
They spread a cloak out on the ground, and 
put their bread on it. Whilst they were 
eating, Nicolette awoke at the chirp of the 
birds and the voices of the shepherds, and — 
came forward towards them. 

— Good children, she said, God be kind to 4 
you! 

— God bless you! said one of them, who 
was a little less tongue-tied than the rest. 

— Good children, do you know Aucassin, 
the son of Count Garin de Beaucaire ? 

— Yes, we know him right well. 

— So may God help you, good children, 
tell him that there is a beast in this forest, 
that he shall come to hunt it, and that if he 
could catch it he would not give one limb 
of it fora hundred marks of gold, nor for 
five hundred, nor for any thing. 

And they stared at her, and seeing her so — 
beautiful they were all amazed at her. 

—I should tell him that? answered the — 











NICOLETTE AND THE SHEPHERDS, 


NY 


Z| 
| 
i 
4 
ZA 











AND NICOLETTE. 57 





one who was the least tongue-tied. Bad 
luck to the one who shall tell it him! You 
tell nothing but lies, for there is no beast 
in this forest so precious, neither stag, nor 
lion, nor boar, that one of its limbs is worth 
more than two farthings, or three at most; 
and you talk of a great sum like that! Il 
luck to him who believes you, and who will 
tell it him! You are a fairy. So we care 
nought for your company : go your ways. 

— Ha! good children, she answers, you 
will do it. The beast has such virtue that 
Aucassin will be cured of his trouble. And 
I have here five pence in a purse. Take 
them, and tell him that; and say that he 
must hunt the beast within three days; and 
if in three days he does not find it, never 
_ will he be cured of his distress. 

— My faith, he answers, we will take the 
money, and if Aucassin comes hither we 
will tell him it, but we will not go to look 
for him. 

— As God will, she answers. 

Then she takes leave of the shepherd 
lads, and goes on her way. 


58 


AUCASSIN 


SONG, 


Nicolette, than lily whiter, 
Parting from the herd-boys rude, 
Passed within the leafy wood. 
Gloomy thickets sore affright her. 
Straight along a path she glides, 
Dim and narrow, till it guides 
Where it sevenways divides. 
Then she pauses in that nook, 
All alone therein she muses, 
Doubting whether aye or no, — 
Love her spirit so confuses, — 
What her lover thinks to do, 

And if in truth he loves her so. 
Then, to prove his faith, she took 
Leaf of fern and lily-flower, 

Turf all green with grassy gloss, 
Carpet fresh and soft of moss, 
Branches thick, and built a bower, 
Beautiful beyond compare, 

Such as ne’er was seen more fair. 
— God, who is all truth, I dare 
Call to witness, as I swear, 

That if Aucassin so dear 

Coming hither, shall discover 
This that I have built, and in it 
Rest not, were it but a minute, 





THE Woop. 


Zz 
4 
t) 
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fa 
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a 





oO tae th Pie 


—. |. 


AND NICOLETTE. 59 





No more shall he be my lover, 
Nor I his fere. 


STORY. 


When Nicolette had made the bower, as 
you have heard and understood, very fair 
and very pleasant, she soon covered and 
carpeted it with flowers and leaves, outside 
and inside. She hid herself close by the 
place in a dense thicket, to see what Aucassin 
would do. 

Now the rumor had spread through all 
the country, that Nicolette was lost. Some 
said that she had taken flight, and others 
that Count Garin had caused her to be put 
to death. If any one was joyous at that, 
small joy had Aucassin of it. But Count 
Garin brought him out from ward. He sent 
for the knights and damsels of his land, and 
prepared a right noble festival, thinking to 
console his son. At the time when the feast 
was most joyous, Aucassin went and leaned 
upon a balustrade, all mournful and dejected. 
Great though the delight might be, he had 
no heart to take pleasure in it, for he could 


60 AUCASSIN 





not see her whom he loved. A knight per- 
ceiving him, came to him, and says: 

— Aucassin, I also have suffered from the 
trouble that you bear. If you will trust me, 
I will give you good counsel. | 

— Sir, said Aucassin, great thanks. 

— Mount your horse; go and disport 
yourself in the thick of yonder forest. You 
will see the flowers and plants there, and 
hear the little birds sing. Perhaps too you 
will hear some word from which good will 
come to you. 

— Sir, great thanks ; so will I do. 

He steals away from the hall, goes down > 
the steps, comes to the stable where his 
horse was. He has him saddled and bridled, — 
puts foot in stirrup, mounts, and goes forth 
from the castle. He went on as far as the 
forest, and rode till he came to the fountain, 
and met the shepherd-lads just at three 
hours after noon. They had spread their | 
cloaks on the grass; they were eating their — 
bread and taking their pleasure. 





AND NICOLETTE, 61 


SONG. 


Of the shepherds one ’gan say, 

Look, the lordling comes our way, 

Aucassin, the count’s young heir. 

May the dear Lord heal his grief, 

Helping him to find relief. 

’Tis a goodly youth, and rare. 

So that maid with sparkling eye, 

Shining face, and waist so taper, 

She, my faith, was fair no less, 

Who from purse full light, I guess, 

Gave us wherewithal to buy 

Crooks, with which our flocks are led, 

Knives with sheaths, and gingerbread, 

Flutes and pipes, to make us caper. 
May God her bless ! 


STORY. 


When Aucassin heard the shepherd-lads, 
he bethought him of Nicolette his darling, 
- whom he loved so much; and he supposed 

she had gone past that place. He spurs his 
horse, and comes up to them. 

— Good children, God be your help! 


62 AUCASSIN 





— God bless you! answered the one who 
was less tongue-tied than the rest. 

— Good children, sing me the song again 
you were singing just now. 

— We will not sing it again a jot: to the 
devil with him who shall sing it for you, fine 
sir ! 

— Good children, do you not know me? 

— Yes, truly ; we know well that you are 
Aucassin, our young lord. But we don’t 
belong to you. We belong to Count Garin. 

— Dear children, sing, I entreat you. 

— Oh, body-blue! why should we sing for 
you if we don’t choose to? Since there is 
not a man in this land so high and mighty, 
save Count Garin his own self, that if he 
were to find our oxen and cows and sheep 
in his meadow, and even in his corn, he 
would dare to drive them out of it, for 
fear of having his eyes poked out, why 
should we sing for you, if we don’t choose 
to? 

— God help you, good children, you shall 
sing. See, here are ten pence I have in my 
purse. 

— Sir, we will take the money, but we 


. : ? -f 
i at th ht al) Bi ae Bd A ee hd 








AND NICOLETTE. 63 


will not sing. We have sworn it. But we 
_ will tell you a story if you like. 

— Please God, says Aucassin, I had liefer 
- have a story than nothing. 

— Then, sir, we were here but a little 
while ago, between six and nine of the 
morning, and we were eating our bread at 
this fountain, just as we are doing now, 
when there came a young girl, the fairest 
in the world, so beautiful that we thought 
we saw a fairy, and so that all this wood 
was lighted up by her. She gave us of her 
money; and for that we promised her that 
if you should come hither we would tell you 
to go and hunt in this forest; that a beast 
is therein of which, if you could take it, you 
would not give a limb neither for five hun- 
dred silver marks, nor for any thing; for the 
beast has such virtue that, if you can take it, 
you will be cured of your distress. But you 
must take it within three days; and if you 
do not take it in that time from now, never 
will you see it. So, hunt it if you choose; 
and, if you don’t choose, let it be. But we 
have quite freed ourselves of our promise to 
her. 


64 AUCASSIN 


— Dear children, says Aucassin, you have 
said full enough, and may God bring me to 
find her! 


SONG. 


Nicole’s riddles well apprise him 
Of her eager hopeful tryst ; 
Heart no less than ear must list. 
Wheeling then his steed, he hies him 
To the forest deep and lonely. 
— My Nicolette, ’tis for you only 
I seek this wood, nor reck the while 
Wolf in toils, or tusky boar, 
Or stag at bay; whate’er I do, 
None other prey I hunt than you, 
Weary, lost, your track pursue. 
Sweetest fere, once only more 
To see your eyes, to meet your smile, 
Craves my heart, all else above, 
Stricken nigh to death with love. 
So may God, the mighty sire, 
Grant the meeting I desire, 

Sweet sister-friend ! 


STORY. 


Aucassin goes through the forest seek- 
ing Nicolette, and his horse carries him at 


AND NICOLETTE. 65 





a swift pace. Think not that the briers and 
thorns spared him. No, no! Indeed, they 
tore his garments, so that the rags of them 
were not enough to tie a knot withal, and the 
blood flows from his arms, legs, and ribs in 
more than twenty places, so that one might 
have followed him by the trail of his blood 
dropping on the grass. But he mused so on 
Nicolette his true love, that he felt neither 
pain nor hurt. He wandered the day long 
in the forest without finding trace of her. 
And when he saw that evening was coming, 
he fell to weeping because he had not found 
his sweetheart. He was riding in an old 
path grown over with grass, when he met a 
man, such as I am going to tell you of. He 
was tall and marvellously ugly and hideous. 
He wore leggings and shoes of ox-hide, 
wound about with a coarse string to above 
his knees. He was muffled in a frieze coat, 
and leaning on a stout club. Aucassin 
came all at once on him, and was sore afraid 
when he suddenly saw him quite close. 

— Good brother, God help you! 

— God bless you! 

— Please God, what are you doing here? 


66 AUCASSIN 





— What business is that of yours? 

— Nothing, I only ask you out of civility. 

— But you, why are you weeping and be- 
having so sorrowfully? Surely, if I-were as 
rich as you, nothing in the world could 
make me cry. 

— Bah! do you know me? 

— Yes, I know very well that you are 
Aucassin, the count’s son; and if you tell 
me why you are weeping, I will tell yon 
what I am doing here. 

— Surely, I will very willingly tell you. 
I came this morning to hunt in this wood. 
I had the prettiest white greyhound in the 
world, and I have lost it, and so I weep. 

— Oh, lord’s heart, you cry for a wretched 
dog! Great fool he who will think much 
of you, when there is no lord in this coun- 
try so rich as that, if your father should ask 
him for ten, fifteen, or twenty dogs, he 
would not gladly give them to him, and 
think himself lucky. For me, I have a right 
to weep and lament. 

— You! and for what, brother ? 

— Sir, I will tell you. I was hired to a 
rich villein, and I drove his plough with a 











AUCASSIN AND THE PLOUGHMAN. 


AND NICOLETTE, 67 





team of four oxen. Now three days ago 
a great ill-luck befell me. Of my four oxen 
I lost the best — Redhide, the best of my 
team. And I go about hunting him up, 
and have eaten and drunk nothing these 
three days ; and I dare not go back to the 
town because they would clap me in prison, 
for I have nothing to pay with. All the 
goods I own in the world I carry on my 
back. I have a poor old mother; she had 
but one mattress, and they took that away 
from under her, and now she lies on bare 
straw. I am more sorry for her than myself, 
for goods come and go: if I have lost to-day 
I shall win another time. I shall pay for 
my ox when I am able, and for that I shall 
not cry a jot. While you, you cry fora dirty 
hound! Great fool any one that pities you! 

— Certainly you are a fine comforter, good 
brother! How much was your ox worth? 

— Sir, they ask me twenty pence for it. 
I cannot beat them down a single doit. 

— Well, take this; here are twenty pence 
I have in my purse ; buy your ox again. 

— Sir, great thanks. God bring you to 
find what you are looking for ! 


68 AUCASSIN 





Aucassin leaves him, and rides on. The 
night was clear and mild. He wandered on 
till he came to the bower, which was cov- | 
ered with flowers within and without, above ~ 
and below. And it was so beautiful that it — 
could not be any more so. When Aucassin ~ 
saw it, he stopped suddenly. The light of — 
the moon glinted into it. q 

—Perdie, he said, Nicolette, my sweet 3 
friend, has gone by this place, and it is she — 
who built this bower with her lovely hands. — 
For the love of her and her gentleness, I — 
wili dismount here, and rest in it this night. — 

He slipped his foot from the stirrup to © 
dismount. The horse was tall and large. — 
So much was he musing on Nicolette his — 
sweetheart, that he fell roughly on a stone, 
and put out his shoulder, He felt himself 
sore hurt, but he made all the effort he 
could, and with the other hand fastened his — 
horse to a bush. He turned over on his 
side, and crawling along reached the bower, — 
He looked up through a crevice from the 
inside, and he saw the stars in the sky, and — 
one of them he saw brighter than the rest, — 
and he said: 








“AND NICOLETTE. 69 


SONG, 


— Star that steals from out the night, 
Spark amid the moonlight set, 
Smiling on me from thy height, 
Sure thou hast my Nicolette. 
Envious of her beauty bright, 
Heaven has snatched her from my sight." 
Whatsoe’er may me betide, 
Dropt again to earth below, 
Grant me Heaven, more kind than now, 
Rising, aye with thee to bide. 
For, were I a king’s own son, 
Thou wert peer of such an one, 
My sweetest fere. 


STORY. 


When Nicolette heard Aucassin, for she 
was not far off, she came to him. She went 
into the bower, and threw her arms about 
his neck, and embraced and kissed him. 

— Fair sweet friend, be welcome! 

—And you, fair sweetheart, happily 
found ! 


* Some lines are here wanting in the original MS. 


70 AUCASSIN 





And they kissed, and gave and took kisses, 
and sweet was their joy. 

— Ah, dear friend ! a while ago I was sore 
hurt in the shoulder, and now I feel neither — 
hurt nor grief, since I have found you again. 

Immediately she feels and finds that his — 
shoulder is put out. She manages it with — 
her lovely hands, and does so well that, by 
the help of God, who loves those that love 
one another, his shoulder comes back to its 
place. Then she takes flowers, fresh grass 
and green leaves, binds it up with a strip 
from her fine linen shift, and he is soon 
cured, 

— Aucassin, fair sweet friend, whatever 
may become of you, think of what you have 
to do. If to-morrow your father commands 
search through this forest, and they find us, — 
whatever they do with you, as for me, they — 
will kill me. 

— Surely, fair sweet friend, I should be — 
sorely grieved for that ; but if I can do any 
thing they shall not take you. 

He mounts his horse, takes his love up 
before him, embracing and kissing her, and 
they fare on into the country. 








AND NICOLETTE. 71 


SONG. 


So he quits the savage wood, 
Bearing — as he holds on selle 
Her he loves so passing well — 
Gallant mien, and joyous mood. 
Whilst with Nicolette before him 
Thus they wander, how he bore him, — 
If with loving arms he pressed 
Her close held against his breast, 
If he kissed her golden tresses, 
Kissed her eyes, her lips, her neck, — 
One with small endeavor guesses. 
Nicolette, such warmth to check, 
Erelong thus bespeaks him : 

— Friend, 

Whither will our wandering lead? 
To some country far away? 
— Sweet, I reck not of its end, 
Sith the goal I little heed, 
And as little mark the way, 
Over hill or over heather : 
So we do but fare together, 
Other trouble will not borrow. 

Past the hamlets on they ride, 
Past the towns, the mountains o’er, 
Through the vales, as chance may guide. 
Till at dawning on the morrow 


72 AUCASSIN 





They have reached the marge of land. 
There they both dismounting stand 
On ocean-shore. 


STORY. 


Aucassin dismounts from the horse with 
his darling, as you have heard and under- 
stood. He holds his horse by the bridle, 
and his love by the hand, and they set out 
walking along the shore. Whiles he was in 
such delight and pleasure (for he had with 
him Nicolette his sweetheart whom he cher- 
ished so), a band of Saracens landed on the 
coast. They seized Nicolette and Aucassin, 
and tied his hands and feet, and cast him 
into one vessel, and Nicolette into another. 
A storm arose and parted them. The ship 
which bore Aucassin sailed so far and so 
fast that after many adventures it came 
ashore at the castle of Beaucaire. And the 
people of the country hastened together to 
plunder the ship. They found Aucassin on 
board, and recognized him. When those 
from Beaucaire saw their young lord, they 
had great joy of it. His father and his 








i el ef 

















Tue Lovers ON THE SEA-SHORE. 





AND NICOLETTE, 73 


mother were dead. They escorted him to 
the castle, and immediately became his vas- 
sals. _And he possessed his lordship in 
peace. 


SONG. 


Aucassin, returned again 

To Beaucaire, his lands and castles, 

Over all his happy vassals 

Did with gracious lordship reign ; 

Vowing oft — below his breath — 

That he more shall mourn always 

His Nicolette, with lily face, 

Than if all his noble race 

Should have passed from life to death. 

— In the world what nook, my sweet, 

At this instant may conceal thee? 

Heaven has made no such retreat 

Hid so deep in privacy, 

Might I find it, but that I 

There would seek thee, thence would steal thee, 
My Nicolette ! 


STORY. 


Now we leave Aucassin, and return to 
Nicolette. The ship in which she was be- 


74 AUCASSIN 





longed to the King of Carthage. He, be it 
known, was her father. She had twelve 
brothers, all princes or kings. When they 
saw Nicolette so beautiful, they did her 
great honor, and welcomed her joyfully, 
and they asked her who she was; for she 
seemed to them a right noble lady, and of 
high degree. But she knew not to tell 
them who she was, for she had been carried 
off when a very little child. They sailed 
on till they made land at last at the city of 
Carthage. And when Nicolette saw the 
walls of the castle, she knew who she was; 
and it came to her memory that she had 
been brought up there, and carried off when 
quite little. But still she was not so little 
that she could not remember well that she 
had been brought up in the city. 


SONG. 


Nicolette, the vessel leaving, 
Touched the beach. And, first of all, 
Great was her amaze, perceiving 
Fortress, port, and city wall, 

The very same a child she knew 
When stolen by the pirate crew. 


wOVHLAV) OL aLLATOOTN ONIN SNHOVAVS aH 








AND NICOLETTE. 75 


Double thus her cause for grieving. 

— How am I the better, sprung 

Of so great and noble race, 

Kin to princes, even higher, 

King of Carthage for my sire, 

If some day I bear disgrace, 

A slave, a barbarous folk among? 

My Aucassin, the thought of thee 

Stinging, burning, haunteth me 

With so keen and sweet a fire 

That for love I near expire. 

God, who knows my soul, of grace 

Grant I may once more behold thee, 

That thy lips may kiss my face, 

Once again my arms enfold thee, 
O youth so dear ! 


STORY. 


When the King of Carthage heard Nico- 
lette speak thus, he threw his arms round 
her neck. 

— Fair sweet friend, said he, tell me who 
you are. Do not distrust me. 

— Sire, I am the daughter of the King of 
Carthage. I was carried off when a very 
little child, as much as fifteen years ago. 


76 AUCASSIN 





When all they of the court heard her 
speak thus, they knew well that she spake 
truth. They made great joy over her, and 
escorted her to the palace in grand honor, 
like a king’s daughter. They wanted to give 
her a king of the pagans for husband; but 
she had small thought of marrying. She 
mused all the time by what means she might 
go in search of Aucassin. She got herself 
a viol, on which she learned to play. When 
they wanted to marry her one day to a 
mighty pagan king, she stole away by night, 
came to the port, and went into hiding with 
a poor woman on the seashore. She tooka 
plant that she knew, anointed her head and 
face with it till she stained herself all black ; 
and she had made a close doublet, a cloak, 
a shirt, and breeches, and so disguised her- 
self asa minstrel. She took the viol, went 
to find a sailor, and so managed that he took 
her aboard his ship. They unfurled the 
sails, and sailed away until they came to the 
country of Provence. And Nicolette went 
on shore, took her viol, and went on playing 
through the country, until she came to the 
castle of Beaucaire, where Aucassin was. 





THe Princess NicoLterre IN CaRTHAGE. 


AND NICOLETTE. 


SONG. 


Fell a day that Aucassin 
At Beaucaire his state did hold 
On the sward without the towers. 
Round him stood his barons bold. 
Looking on the grass and flowers, 
Listening to the small birds’ song 
All the brookside copse among, 
He, in wonted wise, began 
Musing of his Nicolette ; 
Early days of love repeating — 
Love so true, so quickly fleeting ; 
Days that he can ne’er forget, 
Days he will for aye regret. 
Hither comes the fair Nicole, 
Takes her viol, drawing near. 
Thus she sings : 

— Most noble knights, 

Or of the plain, or of the heights, 
Lithe and listen, an ye may, 
To the tale, full sweet in sooth, 
Of Aucassin, the noble youth, 
And Nicolette, his dearest fere, 
Who so constant faith did cherish ; 
Nothing lingering, nothing ruing, 
Through the deep wood her pursuing, 
Purposed for her love to perish. 


77 


78 AUCASSIN 


A pirate crew, upon a day, 
Seized them, borne as slaves away. 
Nought of him this song can tell. 
She at Carthage must abide, 
Realm whereof her sire is king, 
A mighty kingdom, by my fay! 
Gladly would he make her bride 
To some prince, an infidel. 
Whereto, whoso may aspire, 
Nicolette has small desire. 
She has chosen a youthful knight, 
For her master and her friend, 
One whose love will never end, 
And who Awcassin is hight, 
Vowing, God her witnessing, 
Until life is past and done 
Other lord she will have none 
Save that princely youth alone 
She loves so well. 


STORY. 


When Aucassin heard Nicolette speak 
thus, he was right joyous. He took her — 
aside and asked her, — 

—Fair dear friend, know you not any © 
other thing of that Nicolette whose song — 





AND NICOLETTE, 79 





of love and adventure you have just been 
singing ? 

— Sire, I know her as the worthiest, most 
gracious and chaste that ever was. She is 
the daughter of the King of Carthage, who 
took her captive at the same time that he 
took Aucassin, and carried her to the city of 
Carthage. When he learned that she was 
his daughter, he gave her great welcome. 
Now they press every day to give to her for 
husband one of the mightiest kings of all 
Spain; but she would liefer let herself be 
hanged or burned alive than to take a hus- 
band, how rich soever he might be. 

— Ha, fair sweet friend, says Count Aucas- 
sin, if you would go back to that country to 
tell her to come and speak with me, I would 
give you of my wealth all you might choose 
to ask or take of it. And wot you that for 
her love I have not chosen to take a wife, 
how high soever her degree might be; but 
that I am awaiting her, and that other wife 
than herself never will I have. And if I 
had known where to find her, I would not 
have stayed to set out upon search for her. 

— Sire, she says, were you to promise me 


80 AUCASSIN 





that, I would go and bring her to you, for 
your sake and for hers, sith I love her well. 

He promises her that, and causes twenty 
livres to be given her. As she leaves him, 
he falls to weeping for the loveliness of his 

Nicolette, and when she sees him weeping : 
_ — Sire, she says, do not despair thus, In 
a little time from nowI shall have fetched 
her to you, into the city, and you shall see 
her. 

And when Aucassin heard her speak thus, 
he was right joyful. She goes through the 
city to the house of the viscountess; for the 
viscount, her godfather, was dead. She vis- 
its her, and makes known her secret, and the 
viscountess knew her again, and knew well 
that she was that Nicolette whom she had 
brought up. She had her to wash and to 
bathe, and to rest herself with her eight 
whole days. Nicolette took a plant, by 
name celandine, rubbed her face therewith, 
and made herself as fairas she had ever 
been. She dressed herself in rich garments 
of silk, of which that lady had a plenty. 
She took a seat in the chamber, upon a 
counterpoint of silken cloth, called the 


AND NICOLETTE. 81 





viscountess, and bade her go to bring Au- 
cassin her lover. And the lady did so. 
And when she came to the palace she 
found Aucassin weeping and lamenting for 
Nicolette his darling, because she was so 
long in coming ; and the viscountess said to 
him : 

— Aucassin, lament no longer, but come 
with me, and I will show you the thing you 
love most in the world; for it is Nicolette, 
your sweet love, who has come from a far 
country to find you. 

And Aucassin was happy. 


SONG, 


Guess if he is blithe and gay, 
Soon as Aucassin is ware 
That his love, the lily-fair, 
Bides so little space away ! 
Not a whit he makes delay ; 
Light of heart, with step like wings 
Towards that lady’s palace springs. 
Straight he to the chamber hies him, 
Finds his dearest love right soon. 
She, the instant she espies him, 


82 


AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE. 


Springing, flies to his embrace, 
Trembling, clinging, half a-swoon, 
On his bosom hides her, face. 

If you question his delight, 

Look upon the picture there. 

Won again that waist so slender, 
Lovely face, and eyes so tender, 
You may think how he caressed her 


. As in close embrace he pressed her ! 


So he wore away the night ; 
Then, with glimpse of morning light, 
Wedding her, with ring and rite, 
Made her Lady of Beaucaire. 

Long and happy years they spent, 
Gold and silk and purple blent. 
Nought of love’s delights did miss 
The lover ; ne his fere, I trow, 
Lacked her part of loving bliss. 
God give you no less! And so 

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This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 





ip 1271 
QL waRd ie 


Oh UN Tbe: 


JAN 181988 


a a 


FEB 2 1982 


~ 





orm L9-Series 444 











NN ht It Ir Ii 





‘mio 
Re] 


3 2 





